


One Fine Day

by wine_dark_seashells



Series: Gender? False [3]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Eventual Fluff, Gay, M/M, Max is having a Really Crappy Day, Trans Male Character, and Movies, but at least there's good food, he's sad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-04
Updated: 2020-08-04
Packaged: 2021-03-06 06:47:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 745
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25699063
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wine_dark_seashells/pseuds/wine_dark_seashells
Summary: We all have those days where you wake up and just know that it's going to be a bad one.
Relationships: Maximus Nova/George Reynolds
Series: Gender? False [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1762453
Kudos: 3





	One Fine Day

Max blinked sleepily at the water-stained ceiling. Rain lashed against the thin windows. Outside, a shutter clattered in the wind. The same wind whistled down the chimney and out of the rundown fireplace. It was never pleasant, being woken by the cold. Max sighed, contemplating the Sunday ahead with dread.

If there was nothing else to be done, then he’d have to spend the day trying to find the crack in the floorboards that was letting in the cold. The chimney had to be cleared too, so he could get a fire going. But, since that meant he would have to get onto the roof, it was going to be done another day. Max listened to the storm outside and wished he could put some music on. Verdi or Puccini could have distracted him from the miserable slump his week had been.

Unfortunately, he’d been banned from playing his records by the other residents. All it had taken was one night when he’d fallen asleep and forgot to turn it down. Max scowled. He’d noticed the landlord didn’t seem to take offence at 1C blasting punk rock all night. 

Pulling himself slowly out of bed, Max thought about calling George. His boyfriend would probably let him come over and curl up on his warm couch and watch movies all day. It was Max’s one day off, after all. But alas, George was working. Max didn’t want to be a burden anyway. 

A twinging pain in his ribs made itself known and Max groaned. Of course he’d forgotten to take off his binder last night. Now he wouldn’t be able to wear it at all today. The already bad day just seemed to be getting worse.

Max fumbled into what he deemed acceptable stay at home clothes–with a sports bra, of course–and wondered what he was going to eat. He’d learnt very quickly that any food left out soon grew mouldy, so his diet had mostly consisted of tinned food and the occasional box of takeout. Sometimes George would drag him out of the apartment and make him eat some real food, but Max didn’t want to annoy him by constantly asking for help.

* * *

The tiny kitchen was even colder than his bedroom. Max pulled some of yesterday’s bread from the freezer (the only place it wouldn’t go moldy) and set about making himself some toast. As he grabbed the butter there was a knock on the door. 

Max froze.

He never had visitors. He wouldn’t want to subject anyone to the freezing and damp flat, for one.

The knock rang louder.

Setting down the butter knife, Max stepped cautiously towards the door. He fumbled with the latch and pulled it open to reveal…

George?

“What?”

George grinned at him, soaking wet from his red converse to his messy blond hair. “I thought you could use some company on this fine day,” he said, words practically dripping in sarcasm.

Max opened his mouth to say something, thought about it, and then closed it again. “Why?”

Brushing himself down, George grinned again. “I couldn’t leave my man to deal with this hideous weather all on his lonesome, now could I?”

He pulled off his wet raincoat, kicked off his shoes and hustled Max further inside.

“Now, I brought some pasta from Ombretta, and we’re going to watch some movies on your tiny couch. I also have that blanket you like since your place is an icebox.”

“I- I thought you were working,” Max stammered.

“I was. I called in sick.”

“Oh.”

George pushed Max down on the couch and wrapped him in the coveted purple blanket. He called out as he bustled around the kitchen; “What do you wanna watch? I bought all the Mission Impossibles and Magnificent Seven.”

Max rifled through the bag George had left on his lap. He pulled out the Mission Impossible box set and frowned. 

“You brought the one that doesn’t work,” he informed George.

George stuck his head through the doorway. “What do you mean it doesn’t work?”

“Two, Three and Six have scratches on them, remember? Your little sister got into them.”

“Ah crap,” said George.

He ambled over to Max and handed him a steaming bowl of pasta. Carefully balancing his own bowl, George sat down, pulling his legs underneath him.

“Guess we’re watching Magnificent Seven then.”

Shovelling some spaghetti into his mouth, Max leaned back against George and smiled. Today might turn out alright, after all.

\---


End file.
